The Faith of Donatello
by Fold39Crane
Summary: [OneShot] He was the brother who could. Donatello-centric, Hinted Character Deaths, Language Warning


_**Disclaimer: **I do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. This is a fan work. _

_**Warning: **Language, Hinted Character Deaths, OneShot_

* * *

**The Faith of Donatello**

He was the brother who could. Of all the impossibilities in the world, he was the one that stood against the testaments.

Leonardo had tried to reason against him, a futile and laughable attempt. Who could, in their right minds, argue logic against the so-called genius? Besides, honor meant more to the fearless leader than they could ever for him.

On the other hand, Raphael went with the rasher tactic. So set in his stubborn ways, the hot heated brother never could handle change. However, no amount of name callings, frustrated yelling, and crashing furniture was going to change this growing tide.

It was Michelangelo who had placed a wedge of doubt; one that eventually closed up. Being the youngest, yet most perspective of the bunch, the cheeky turtle always held a special place in his heart. There were pleas in crying and touching, hoping to induce nostalgia in him.

But as already established, Donatello was the brother who could—and he would.

Without another glance back, the one who used to wear purple left the only place he ever called home.

* * *

Out of the perimeter of the lair, the feeling of excitement fueled him. There was no time for regrets or reminiscences. He had to reach his scheduled destination before the sun rises. Everything must go according to plan or else this would all be futile. The slightest mistake would not only detract his path, but send it crashing and burning.

Donatello walked down the sewer lines, a road map imprinted in his mind. He had spent hours setting his routes and his goals. It was almost like a game, except he wasn't on a quest to save a princess or to defeat a monster. This was the final battle for greatness.

In the blooming scientist's mind, his mission was one that was beyond the simplicity of a game. It was complex, something that laid in the twist of nature and nurture. It was his calling.

* * *

He had thought that the first few nights would be wrought with guilt and loneliness, but a resilient silence lulled him. Travelling the unfamiliar, yet well-versed, road, the turtle stopped only when absolutely necessary. There was no time to dwell on past thoughts and comfort.

This was a punishment that only he could carry out; an absolution to the sins that his family endured.

The first step was the easiest to take. No one would dare say that Donatello was never cunning. Some might believe in the pacifism that he practiced, but at this hour, deception and ruthlessness was the book he needed to play by.

When the blood finally washed from his hands, the turtle knew that he was ready.

* * *

Seasons that should have felt long and overwhelming, flew by without a second thought. For Donatello, each day passed without hesitation. Nights were given to mediation while days passed with lessons echoing in his mind. Once his tasks are done, a new road is revealed to him and another niche he would settle for a breath.

So many pseudo-homes past and more laid ahead in the turtle's grand plan.

Thoughts of his brothers were just a whisper. He had no need for Leonardo's calm, Michelangelo's joy, or Raphael's fire. All he need, he had; his faith. This was the destiny that had lured him from his quiet laboratory and onto the road to perdition.

This was his peace.

* * *

Standing among the humans seemed surreal for him. It was as though he was fully exposed despite the piles of clothing that disguised his mutated figure. The growing to flee back into the sewer overtook the turtle.

But all this was necessary.

Donatello shuffled through the streets until he saw the purple scarf, a signal.

Without pausing, he casually bumped into the man, palms lightly brushing. Then, he continued, pretending for the world like everything was alright. The tradeoff was so perfect that even the fearless leader would have been proud of.

After a good distance away, the turtle opened the note; warm and frayed from nervous fingers. His eyes scanned the scratchy code, memorizing it, before lighting the paper on fire. The heat a warm welcome to the set course he has chosen.

He stomped out the ashy remains and returned to his hideout for the night. There was still much to be done.

* * *

Breath hot and heavy swelled in his throat. Another bad cough wrecked his body as he hugged himself tighter, the shivers reminding him of his predicaments.

Finally, he lost himself to the fever and burned.

One memory after another, he was caught in the fire that had licked at his heels since the day he left. Where were his brothers? Where was Leonardo with his soft voice and constant care? Where was Raphael with his stubborn attitude and watchful supervision? Where was Michelangelo and his bubbly talks and attentiveness? Where was—

Through the haze, a hand fell upon him, soothing and promising comfort. There was a presence he once knew so well, keeping vigil aside him. Tears, that he once lost, fell indiscriminately. Thin, leathery, and worn fingers brushed his forehead. A soft kiss followed, whiskers tickling his closed lids.

When Donatello awoke, the fever dissipated along with the sigh of a rat's tail.

* * *

It was the soft cries that drew his attention.

When he finally found the source, Donatello hesitated. He watched, hidden in the darkness, as a young girl rubbed at her cheeks. Fat drops of tears cascading between the creases of her tiny fists. She knelt in front of the open vent he was standing in.

Looking down, he carefully picked up a curious item. Smiling with its buttoned eyes, the soft turtle doll laughed as though it knew Donatello's secrets, or nothing at all.

Brushing the fur fabric, he knew that he was safe under the sewer's shadow. He could easily walk away from this without making a noise, the last thing he would want is to attract unwanted attention.

Yet, his hands moved on its own, mocking the years of heartlessness he had built up. Gently, the doll squeezed through the bars and popped out before the girl.

He didn't pause to look back, effortlessly running through the water without a splash. Joyous laughter echoed behind him; a sound strangely like a younger brother he once had.

However, his path continues.

* * *

Guilt slipped today; a minuscule fracture upon his grand scheme.

Standing in front of the flowing water, for the first time, the blood couldn't be washed. Every drop that kissed his hands laughed at his failure. The fissure threatened and weighted upon his shoulders. In his mind's eye, a soulless innocent watched, accusing his morality.

Tainted hands shaking, Donatello screamed, the first sound in years. It was primal and broken, scratchy and strained. His echoes mocked him in return for his mistake. Resounding and rebounding in an infinite loop, enclosed and unable to escape the room he has nested in.

The night terrors restrained him, filled with a girl's plea and a strangled breath.

When day fell again, he picked up a blade.

* * *

Fucked.

Donatello did not curse often, but at the moment he could not help it. His head spun, churning strategies one after another; each useless under his condition.

Men ran left and right, each shuffling feet driving a chill up the turtle's shell. There was no escape, they had him surrounded, closing in like a noose for his execution. Their muffled breathes excited to finally catch their prey.

Throwing logic out the window, it was time to use the last card in his deck. Channeling his hot headed brother, Donatello roared out a warrior's cry and descended upon his enemies. His sword sliced through the fleshy bodies without hesitation, a feeling that was already numb to his fingertips.

Blood ran merciless that night.

* * *

Close. He has reached the penultimate step.

His intel had been correct, the motions are in play so his chess board was now complete.

Donatello ran rooftop to rooftop, stealth on his side and Lady Lucky smiling upon him. The night was late and breaking into the glory of light, bestowing for him, his ascension to the throne.

With one last look at the city that had given him everything and nothing, he knew that the final chapter has arrived. The knight can finally take the king.

* * *

He did not make a sound, not even the whisper of rustling clothes, as he descended. One step after another, Donatello crept closer to the prize. This may not be the reason for his sabbatical, but it was the answer.

There was a man before him, a human who could laugh in Satan's own face. Backed turned, unaware, of the lurking turtle behind him, this man stood with pride and the scars of demons. A thousand year of sin rested upon his shoulder, but he felt none of it; dusting them off without a thought.

It seemed almost too easy, but this journey Donatello had set upon had given him the tools for this moment; faith. Hands positioned, the turtle attacked.

Not a sound, a peep, was heard. He had planned this exactly and the chips had fallen where they needed to be.

Satisfied with his deed, the turtle paused to send a prayer. Not for the man who wore the Devil's mask, but for the soul that stood beside him. When all is through, the scent of smoky incense and the brush of a worn hand finally left his side.

Turning away, Donatello trotted a familiar path; a siren's call for a weary traveler. His blade wet and trailing a tale, carrying the promise of a better tomorrow.

* * *

It was over.

Almost as quiet as the day he left, Donatello walked back into the place he once called home.

There was no party, no yelling; none of the glee or joy that comes with reunions. Instead, the brothers looked upon the face of someone they once knew and saw a stranger.

And likewise, what was supposed to be a lifetime of familiarity was now just a ghost of his past. His brothers, if he could call them that anymore, were broken beyond repair. The gap that had grown in their hearts had been torn wider by Donatello, sending their lives into a spiral; consuming the sensibility and wholeness of their family.

Raphael couldn't look at him. The silence grew unbearable, yet neither of them could bring themselves to break it.

Finally, when the emotions began to wash over the red-banned turtle, he choked out the one question he had asked every day, "Why?"

Donatello smiled and began with faith.

**fin**

* * *

_**A/N:** My first TMNT fanfiction to post on FFnet... and it doesn't contain TCest, I'm surprised. This did not come out as long as I had hoped. Perhaps, I will add on to it when I feel the fancy. For now, this is all I have._


End file.
